All the Colors Fade to Black
by dionysianDaydream
Summary: The story of how Veigar rose to become a dark wizard. *Fixed, in more ways than one.*


A study conducted on the concept of 'evil' as it exists in ancient Ionian mythology states it clearly: true evil isn't born; it is molded within the heart unwillingly by external forces that exist beyond our control. However, some are more susceptible to its call than others. The definition of 'true evil' is ultimately determined by the world-shaping actions of the fallen few.

One year in a Noxian prison is enough to break anyone.

His captors referred to him as 'little insect', and fed him only small saucers of murky water, clumps of hard, stale bread and the gaimiest of meat scraps. They beat him, kept him removed from the other prisoners, and basically left him in that dark cage not to die, but to stay alive and suffer until he begged for death.

But then one day, the feedings and the beatings stopped entirely.

For days he had to endure without any food, or water, or stone-faced soldiers peeking in at regular intervals. When the wooden door that was chain locked from the other side swung open, and a Yordle girl with long pigtails wearing a regal set of armor emerged, he was too drained to react.

Poppy, the Demacian ambassador for Bandle City squinted for lack of a better light source than a tiny window situated so high upon the wall that not even the tallest man could ever hope to reach it.

"Veigar? Don't worry, I'm here as a friend."

A figure was slumped against a shadowy corner, with his head bowed as if in prayer, bound hands-and-feet by rusty iron chains. Through some titanic effort managed to lift its head just enough to meet her gaze and respond with a nod.

"Water," He gasped.

"Water? Oh, I have some apple nectar..."

Poppy quickly took out a leather flask and held it up to Veigar's parched lips. He drank until he downed the last of the sweet liquid in a few frantic gulps.

"Don't step on my friend."

Poppy blinked."Your...friend?"

She looked down at her feet, and saw what was clearly a dead rat, lying on its side as limp as a plank of wood.

"What the hell did they do to you?"

A better question would be what _didn't_ they do to him. Veigar's entire body was wrapped in bandages except for the sparse, bright pink exclusions of raw, thoroughly shaved flesh that were plainly visible wherever the bandages hung from his withered torso and appendages -not unlike peeling layers of skin, giving him a horrific, mangled appearance.

"They won't get away with this," Poppy seethed, pinching her nose at the mingling odors of urine, faeces and blood that stained the air in the cell.

"Where are they? The guards...it's been days, but nothing."

"They're gone,and it looks like they took the other prisoners with them." Poppy said, then shook her head with a sigh. "It's like this every time. By tomorrow this 'temporary prison' will probably disappear, and...a new one will show up in a different town. We don't know how they do it, but the Noxian jailers always manage to stay one step ahead of us."

"No..." Veigar fell backward, feeling sapped by the news. "They have to pay...for what they've done..."

"We'll talk later, there's a carriage waiting for us outside." She held up the giant iron war hammer she carried with her. At the sight of it, Veigar flinched. "Hold still." Poppy swung and he rolled to the side, expecting a hit, but instead the hammer slammed into one of the chains, shattering it.

"I said hold still. Wouldn't want to break your leg." She hoisted him unto her shoulder. "Stay with me, Veigar. You're going to make it out of here."

Even as he was being freed at long last, Veigar did not feel any kind of joy. Beneath the pangs of hunger, a deep yearning to inflict pain on his tormentors superseded everything else. His _Raison d'être _hadrevealed itself on the day when he gently squeezed the life out of a young rat, guilty of making the mistake of wandering into his cell in search of a meal. It had been his first kill, and even now he savored it as if it were an appetizer for the main course that was to come.

But the world beyond those four walls had a harsh greeting prepared for him. Like a stern reminder that his journey had only just begun.

Outside, a crowd of Noxians had gathered in the street, and were whipped up into such a frenzy that they had to be held at bay by two rows of fully armed Demacian soldiers called in from the local embassy. Occasionally a stone or sandal would make it past, sometimes barely missing the two en route to the carriage - men, women and children barely old enough to speak alike were present, all of them furious.

As you could imagine, the sheer noise, and the dazzling colors of the setting the sun, and the smells of cooking and sweat and dirt, and the flavor and feel of the wind came as quite a shock to Veigar, after living in a box for a year.

"Why are they so angry?"

"They think that you're a Demacian spy that was sentenced to death," Poppy said, without a break in her stride.

As he was being helped into the back of the carriage, Veigar caught a glimpse of the prison from the outside. It looked no different from the other shabby townhouses on the block. The people knew of its existence and not only allowed it to exist, but clearly endorsed it. With a grin and a barely compressed laugh, Veigar decided that they also deserved to be punished...

A chant broke out among the crowd in a language he couldn't understand.

"It's Charon, one of the Noxian dialects," Poppy said. She took a seat next to Veigar and signaled the driver. "They're saying 'kill the traitor'."


End file.
